I'm Not Sick
by Italy's Driving
Summary: Carlos grew up in a strict Catholic household. Over the years, this causes problems for the men he loves. Terrible summary is terrible. I promise you that the story is better than the summary.


I'm Not Sick

 **I have this headcanon that Carlos grew up in a really strict Catholic household. And while I'm not saying that all Catholics are extremely homophobic, Carlos' family is in this story. As such, Carlos struggled, and still struggles, with internalized homophobia. Which is something, I've been told, gets worse when one enters a homosexual relationship.**

 **Now. First off, I do not mean to bring up anything that may be scarring to anyone. This story is potentially triggering, and if there is risk of any of you having any sort of attack because of this story, please do not read on. I would also like to say that I am not responsible for any sort of attack, if you kept reading after this note that is of your own volition.**

 **I know that not all "pray the gay away" camps and things are like this, and I am not trying to portray a "pray the gay away" camp in Carlos' nightmare and flashbacks. What I am trying to portray is conversion therapy. Conversion therapy is a form of pseudoscience, that is often both psychologically and physically scarring, as it is basically torture.**

 **Conversion therapy is basically torture, and is designed to make young boys associate the touch of another man with pain, and to make young girls associate the touch of another woman with pain. THIS IS BASICALLY TORTURE. I CANNOT STRESS THAT ENOUGH IF THERE IS A POSSIBILITY OF THIS TRIGGERING YOU PLEASE DO NOT READ ON.**

 **I do not speak Spanish, so any Spanish ramblings have only been through google translate. So I do apologize for that. Speaking of Spanish. In this story, I have gone with the less popular route of making Carlos from Spain, born and raised, as opposed to Mexico.**

 **Kevin redemption. Because Kevin is my precious child and I love him. Kevin redemption. Because he deserves it. Kevin redemption. Because who doesn't love an unintentional psychopath? Kevin redemption. It is in every one of my Night Vale fics.**

 **With that being said, I do not own Night Vale nor characters associated with it. Now. Onto the story.**

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"Carlos? How are you feeling today?" Young Carlos flinched at the sickly sweet voice of the doctor. He scuttled backwards, further into his cot. Carlos fervently shook his head, not wanting to go with the doctor to therapy.

"Carlos~ come out now, we have to go." the doctor seized Carlos' wrist tightly, bruising the too-thin appendage. Carlos cried out, trying to pull away. The doctor held fast and dragged the young latino out of his bed and into the hallways.

"We are already late, Carlos. And lateness isn't good, Mister Rosales. We must get to therapy," the doctor said. Carlos struggled to find his feet so he could walk alongside the doctor as opposed to being dragged along behind him.

"No, por favor, no, no quiero, doctor, por favor, no. No me gusta la terapia, por favor, voy a parar, lo prometo. Por favor, no me hagas ir," (No, please, no, I don't want to, doctor, please, no. I don't like therapy, please, I'll stop, I promise. Please don't make me go.) Carlos rambled, hopelessly pleading at the doctor.

"No, no, Carlos. We speak English here, don't we?" the doctor chided in that sickly sweet voice of his. Carlos whimpered and nodded as he was thrown into an overly cushioned chair. His hands and feet were strapped down, his head strapped to the headrest so he couldn't turn away. Carlos would have liked to close his eyes but, like every other session, his eyes were taped open.

Carlos cried out as his fingertips were punctured and needles inserted into them. So deep, that Carlos could only see the eye sticking out and the metal thread that hooked them up to the machine. Carlos didn't like these therapies. All therapies were bad, yes, but he especially disliked this one. Tears slipped down dark, delicate skin as gay porn was played on the screen, and the torture started. Soon, Carlos was writhing and convulsing on the chair as electricity shot through his nerves. He could taste blood. They had forgotten the bit again. They did that often. Carlos was concerned that, one day, he would bite his tongue clean off and all that would be left of the muscle was a pink stub.

"All right. Give him a break," the doctor said, mercifully turning off the porn and the electricity. Carlos continued to convulse, the left over electricity still coursing through his body, conducted by the iron content in his blood.

"Now, Carlos. Don't be so overdramatic. It wasn't that bad, only 80 voltages. Why don't we go up? Say, 140," the doctor said. Tears fell more swiftly down Carlos' cheeks. Had he been able to, he would be vehemently shaking his head.

"Oh," the doctor said, stuffing a rubber bit in between Carlos' teeth, "Can't forget this."

The therapy started again, and Carlos screamed around the bit in his mouth. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and an odd combination of blood and drool dripped down Carlos' chin onto his bare chest. Carlos could tell the voltage was higher. He could always tell when it got higher, because it meant what they showed him became more intense. He disliked what they showed him, it was disgusting.

It seemed hours to Carlos before the screen grew black, and the burning in his nerves ceased. The needles were removed from his fingers, and he was unstrapped. Left to slump off the chair and convulse on the floor. Carlos lay there for a while, his limbs spasming ever so often. The doctor came back in, laughing.

"Now, now, Carlos. There's no time for mucking about. The next stage is about to begin," the doctor laughed. Carlos whimpered as he was heaved back onto the chair and strapped back in. His eyelids were taped open again, his head restrained. But, luckily, the needles were not inserted. This time electrodes, sticky with adhesive, were set on his temple and connected to the electroshock machine that the needles were. Carlos hated this next part even more than the last part.

First, they showed a pair of men kissing. Carlos received a harsh shock. Next, a picture of a man and woman holding hands. Carlos received nothing. A pair of men kissing. A shock. A man and woman holding hands. Nothing. A pair of men kissing. A harsh shock. A man and woman holding hands. Nothing. It was odd. And Carlos didn't like it. Cause love is love, right? That's what Carlos had always thought. That love was just love and gender didn't matter.

"Carlos, do you understand now?" the doctor asked. Carlos nodded dumbly, not really understanding but wanting this to be over.

"Carlos, your fourteenth birthday is in a few weeks, would you like to be home for it?" the doctor asked. Carlos nodded again. He wanted to see his mama and papa. It wasn't their fault he was here. Abuela and Abuelo had made them send him here.

"You will, Carlos. Your treatment is almost over, isn't that good?" Carlos nodded dumbly, "You're almost cured!" Carlos nodded again, his thought process wandering somewhere far from where he actually was as he was led back to his cabin.

"I am…" Carlos mumbled, his English marred by his accent, "Not… sick…"

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 _Five Years Later_

At 19, Carlos Rosales should have his whole life set out for him. But he didn't. Five years. Five years he had been pretending to like women. Five years he had pretended to be straight. Five years, he was stuck with girlfriends longing for the touch of another man, but flinching when one came close. And he hated it. He hated pretending to be something he wasn't. He hated the cherry-sweet taste of his girlfriend's lips. He hated the way her hair felt. He hated her. She was sweet, but he just couldn't. He hated it all. He hated his professors. His grandparents. His many siblings. His parents. Himself.

And so he found himself on the edge of his university's roof. He was in America, on a student visa. He liked America. The air was sweet and moist here. The people were sweet and accepting, and Carlos knew they would accept him for who he was. But… he couldn't accept himself. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live. But he didn't want to keep hating himself.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Carlos flinched at the masculine voice and spun quickly, tottering dangerously on the edge. The guy held up his hands, backing away.

"Whoa, whoa! Hold on, man, I'm not going to hurt you," the man said. Carlos vaguely recognized him as a professor, but not one of Carlos'. He was an English professor, all of Carlos' classes were Science or math. And one foreign language class, but it was European Spanish. And, growing up in Madrid, Carlos knew all about European Spanish. It was an easy A.

"You're a foreign student, right? From Spain?" the professor asked. Carlos nodded, his vision blurred only slightly from tears.

"Your girlfriend took the same dive off of here just last week, is that why you're here?" the professor asked.

Carlos shook his head, "I didn't like her. I feel bad that she's dead, but I'm not doing this for her. I don't like women."

"Oh? I never would have guessed from how you act. Ah, I see," the professor said, stepping closer. Carlos' foot slipped back half a step.

"D-do not come any closer," Carlos threatened. The professor looked surprised, but held his hands up again and stepped backwards.

"All right, all right. Carlos, was it? The girls in my class talk about you a lot," the professor said.

"Y-yes, Carlos. What's your name?" Carlos asked. Carlos wasn't sure why he was asking, because if all went according to plan and the professor left nothing would matter to Carlos anymore.

"Charlie Cole. Most call me Professor Cole, but I suppose since you're not in any of my classes Charlie works," Charlie said.

"Nice to meet you Charlie," Carlos huffed in a laugh.

"The pleasure's all mine, Carlos. I only wish we had met before all this," Charlie said, stepping closer.

"N-no!" Carlos lost his balance and fell backwards, his hands scrambling for purchase. Charlie lunged forward and grabbed the young Spaniard's hands and pulled him away from the edge of the roof. Both men went tumbling backwards. Charlie wrapped his arms protectively around Carlos, who started shaking.

"L-let me go!" Carlos scrambled away from the professor. Charlie held his hands up in apology.

"Sorry. I won't touch you. I'll leave. You can… do what you have to. But, ya know, I'd prefer if you stopped by my office for tea some time," Charlie said, walking through the roof door and leaving Carlos alone on the roof.

Two weeks later, Carlos wandered into the English hall without knowing where he was going or what he was doing there. He barely knew Charlie, they had spoken for less than a minute. But… the man had saved Carlos' life. Carlos was alive, because Charlie Cole had had the courage to stop a student he didn't even know from killing himself.

"Hey, you looking for something?" Carlos turned to see the custodian standing there, smiling politely. Carlos ran a hand through his hair and laughed.

"Yeah. Uh, Charlie Cole?" Carlos asked.

"Down the hall, take a left, last door on the right side of the hall. You one of his students?" the custodian asked.

"Sort of, yeah. I've attended a few lectures," and he had. In the past two weeks, Carlos had attended a few of Charlie's lectures, "Thank you, by the way. Have a nice day." Carlos took off down the hall, following the custodian's instructions. He didn't hear the fond chuckle from the man.

"Carlos! Do I finally have the pleasure of serving you tea?" Charlie asked, gesturing Carlos into the room without touching him.

"Sure. I actually came by… to thank you. You, heh, you saved my life. I don't know how to repay you," Carlos said.

"You can start by having tea with me," Charlie laughed, gesturing to the couch a bit away from his desk. Carlos sat down on the left side of the couch. Charlie followed a bit after, cups steaming with brewing tea. He sat down next to Carlos. Close enough that Carlos could see every detail in the other man's face, but far enough away that they weren't touching. Something Carlos was very glad of.

"I've seen you at some of my lectures. You like horror," Charlie said, "Those are the ones you always show up to."

"I do like horror. It intrigues me. I prefer the psychological sort, though. My mama never let me read them, though. I always had to read them in secret," Carlos replied.

"I have quite a few psychological horror books, if you'd like to borrow them?" Charlie asked. Carlos smiled slightly.

"I…" Carlos took a sip of tea, "I would like that."

"Great!" Charlie stood up and made his way to his bookshelf, and pulled one book down, "Have you read _Hannibal Rising_?"

"I've read the other ones with Hannibal Lecter as a character, but not that one, no. Not yet," Carlos responded.

"Good. You take this with you when you leave and, in a week, we meet up at the campus coffee shop and you tell me what you think of it so far," Charlie said, handing Carlos the book.

"Alright! That sounds great, I love Hannibal Lecter," Carlos said, "He's so interesting."

"I think you're the first person I've ever met that thought that way," Charlie said, laughing slightly.

"Is that a bad thing?" Carlos asked.

"Not at all. You know, I'm actually doing a lecture on the psychology behind his character and murders. I won't be getting paid for it, this one's more for fun at a local bookstore. You should come," Charlie said, smiling. Carlos smiled as well and looked down at the shimmering cover of the book.

"Why did you come on the roof that day?" A week had passed since Charlie gave Carlos the book, and the two were in the campus coffeeshop eating pastries and drinking coffee. The conversation had lulled for a bit, and the two were awkwardly looking around. Not quite sure how to act with each other.

"Honestly?" Charlie asked.

Carlos grit his teeth, "I cannot stand liars."

"All right. I was going up there for a smoke. There's no rules against professors smoking on campus, though I've been told that you're less likely to get in trouble if you do it where students can't see you. Well, most students, I guess," Charlie said, setting down his fancy coffee, "I'd ask what you were doing up there, but I think we both know."

"Actually, I wasn't up there for that reason, not originally. I went up there to think. To look at the sky. I like looking at the sky. It's the one thing that hasn't changed since I've come to America," Carlos said, "It makes me feel not so far from home. But then I got thinking. I'm one of the middle children of eleven. My parents forget my name half the time, and they didn't care when my grandparents shipped me off to conversion therapy. I don't even think they responded when I told them I was going to America, at least not that I know of. I figured, I don't really have anyone that would miss me when I was gone."

Carlos had always been a very open person. He'd talked to people he considered friends about a lot of things, both personal and not. And talking to Charlie just seemed easier than talking to kids his age.

"How old're you?" Charlie asked.

"Nineteen," Carlos said.

Charlie whistled, "And already a junior at the college of What It Is. That's quite impressive."

"They called me a certified genius when I took the test. How old are you?" Carlos asked.

"Thirty three. Quite the age gap, huh?" Charlie laughed.

"Not really. My father was forty-seven when he married my twenty-three year old mother," Carlos said.

"How sweet. Were they in love?" Charlie asked.

"Totally and completely," Carlos said, "They used to tell us the story all the time. I guess as a way for us all to gain hope that we'd meet someone we loved that much someday."

"That's sweet. Has it worked?" Charlie asked.

"Not for me, no. I can't say the same for my siblings. I haven't seen them in a while, and I'm pretty sure unless they came immediately before or after me, they don't know I exist," Carlos said, "What about you? Do you have any siblings, I mean."

"Eldest of nine," Charlie said.

"Want to see who can list them faster?" Carlos asked jokingly.

"Sure," Charlie said, taking a drink of his coffee. Carlos followed suit with his tea, then the two started.

"Charlie, Thomas, Lisa, Elizabeth, Leah, Diane, Joey, Wes, Zach," Charlie said at the same time as Carlos said,

"Marivelle, Humberto, Jorge, Edith, Alejandro, Jesus, Carlos, Oswaldo, Antonio, Querida, Frida-Margarita." Carlos, the names rolling off his tongue much easier than Charlie's, finished about a second before the older man.

"Hey, you said eleven. That was twelve," Charlie said, his voice filled with mocking righteousness.

Carlos laughed, "Nope. Frida-Margarita is one girl, she has a hyphenated name."

"Ah. I like it. Pretty name," Charlie continued, "You smoke?"

"No, never tried it," Carlos said.

"You should. It's a lot less of a bad habit than that," Charlie said, nodding towards the scars on Carlos' arms.

"Alright. I should take it up," Carlos said.

"Yeah, let me the first to introduce you to it," Charlie said. They both stood and grabbed their coffees, walking outside and behind the coffeeshop. Charlie took out two cigarettes and handed one to Carlos.

"You put it between your teeth, like this," Charlie said, demonstrating. Carlos laughed at how stupid the professor looked, but did the same. Charlie pulled out a lighter and lit it, moving his hand towards Carlos' face. Carlos flinched, and Charlie shot him an apologetic look, handing the young Spaniard the lighter. Carlos coughed as soon as he took a drag, which made Charlie laugh and choke on the smoke from his own drag.

"You okay, Carlos?" Charlie asked with a husky voice.

Carlos coughed, "Fine, yeah. Thanks. God, this is terrible."

"Yeah, it really is. But it's much better than your old addiction," Charlie said.

Carlos laughed, "Yes, I guess it is. Thank you."

"For?"

"Everything."

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Carlos and Charlie got to know each other very well. There were rumours that the two were dating, and neither did anything to dispute said rumour. They didn't encourage it, either, though. Mostly, the two met up for coffee and smoked and exchanged books with each other. Though both were slowly obtaining each other's life stories from the other. Carlos had long since moved into the large apartment Charlie lived in, as he couldn't afford one of his own and Charlie had an extra bedroom.

One night, Charlie woke up to screams. The professor's blue eyes flew open wide, and he jumped out of bed. He didn't bother to fix his wild blond hair or to change out of his pajamas. He merely rushed out of his room and slammed into the wall across his door after slipping on the carpet. He rushed to Carlos' room and stopped just short of the bed. He wanted to jump onto the bed and hold the Spaniard close, to comfort him. But he knew of the boy's abhorrence to being touched by another man. No, abhorrence was the wrong word. Fear, was the perfect one.

"Carlos, Carlos! Please, wake up! It's just a dream," Charlie called, cautiously seating himself on the bed, far enough that even with all his flailing, Carlos never touched him.

"Detente, por favor, para, no estoy enfermo, lo juro, por favor, voy a parar simplemente no hacer esto! ¡Por favor, te lo ruego!" _(Stop, please, stop, I'm not sick, I swear, please, I'll stop just do not do this! Please I beg you!)_ Carlos rambled in his sleep. Charlie knew enough Spanish to know the young man was begging for mercy to someone whom would not listen. He knew enough of Carlos' history that whomsoever Carlos was begging would never relent.

"Carlos, wake up. Please, it's just a dream. You're away from them. You are safe, I'm right here. It's me. It's Charlie," Charlie said softly. Carlos shot up in bed, his eyes wide with fear. Charlie expected for Carlos to flinch and tell him to leave him alone. Or scream for Charlie not to touch him. But he didn't do either those. As soon as Carlos set his eyes on Charlie, he bolted towards him and wrapped his arms around the older man's torso. Shocked at the contact, Charlie was frozen for a second before he hugged Carlos tight, murmuring assurances of safety into the young man's prematurely grey hair.

"Thank you." It was hours later that the soft words, tinged attractively with a Spanish accent, slipped out of Carlos' lips. There was no need to say for what. Charlie knew what Carlos was thanking him for.

"You're welcome."

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There are nights where Carlos wakes up screaming. They're not often, but when they occur Carlos screams for hours, and when Charlie manages to wake him up, the rest of the night is spent with soft reassurances of safety and love through sobs. Charlie doesn't mind helping his now-fiance. He loves Carlos, and though there are days when Carlos is disgusted with himself and their relationship, but Charlie knows that Carlos loves him. He also knows that he won't ever meet Carlos' family, but he doesn't mind that. His own family loves the now twenty-three year old. And so does Charlie.

It's their anniversary tomorrow, and Charlie always remembers their anniversary. Carlos doesn't always, but Charlie doesn't fault him for that. Carlos has a tendency to go down a rabbit hole of his own making when he gets into his experiments. Charlie doesn't mind, because he knows that Carlos _does_ remember; he just forgets the dates of the days. If Charlie asked, Carlos could tell them their exact anniversary. The date and the time that they went on their first actual date. He can also tell Charlie the minutes between their first date and now.

Charlie is out of the house. Carlos is back home, doing science; but Charlie is looking for a gift for the Spaniard. He knows Carlos misses Spain. He also knows that, with Carlos' current visa, he's not allowed to travel internationally. Which meant he wouldn't be able to visit his parents. At least, not until the two were married and Carlos gained citizenship through Charlie. Then again, Charlie didn't know if Carlos would want to visit his parents even if he could. The fact of the matter was, Charlie wanted to find a gift to give Carlos that would remind the younger man of Spain and his home.

"What are you looking for?" A woman questioned as she came to stand beside Charlie as he gazed at the display of… things that Charlie wasn't quite sure. He was in a foreign shop, someplace that sold things genuinely made in the countries whose traditions they were based off of. He was currently looking at the store directory (it was a rather large store), frantically searching for the section for Spain. Charlie cast a look at the woman, noting that she was an employee.

"Uh, Spain? I don't see it on the directory," Charlie said, rubbing the back of his head.

"Ah. Let me take you there," Charlie nodded and followed the woman, "So you're Spanish?"

"Me? Oh, god no. Look at my complexion! No, my fiance is. On his current visa he can't visit his parents, so I'm trying to find something that will remind him of home. It's our three year anniversary tomorrow," Charlie answered with a laugh.

"Where'd he live?" the woman asked.

"Madrid," Charlie answered.

"Never been, but I've heard it's beautiful," the woman answered, "I'm afraid I won't be much help. This is the Spain section. I can send over an expert?"

"No, no, that's fine," Charlie said, not wanting to trouble the woman, "I'll manage." Charlie looked around at the trinkets. He already had the actual gift ready, he just needed to pick it up, but he also wanted to give Carlos some little trinket that would be a reminder of home. Charlie pulled his phone out and called Carlos.

"Hey, you like football right?" Charlie asked.

"I like real football, yes. Not the stuff that you Americans call football," Carlos responded with a laugh.

"Oh, great. Who's your favorite player and what team?" Charlie asked.

Carlos laughed, "Madrid team, of course. And Marcelo Vieira. Why?"

"Imma get you a jersey," Charlie said. There was silence on the other line.

"Wha- Seriously!? Charlie, you do not have to do that," Carlos said.

"Of course I don't," Charlie laughed, "But I want to." Charlie could practically hear Carlos shrug.

Charlie laughed, "I'll be home in a little over an hour. I love you."

"I love you, too. See you soon."

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The wedding was beautiful. Carlos wore a suit styled after traditional Spanish wedding dresses, and he looked wonderful. The lacy black suit was the same color as the majority of his hair, and Charlie thought that he looked like the most beautiful man to have ever existed. Carlos was of the same opinion, but towards Charlie. The ceremony was beautiful, but the two enjoyed the reception even more.

"So. How's the most beautiful man in the world enjoying his wedding?" Charlie asked. Carlos only briefly looked up from picking at his food to smile at Charlie.

"I would not know. How are you enjoying this, Charlie?" Carlos responded. Charlie's grin grew as he laughed.

"I am wonderful. Are you having fun?" Charlie asked.

"I guess. Your siblings are quite… rowdy," Carlos said.

"Yes, they are. Though they seem to get along great with yours." Charlie was right. There was a large table full of Charlie's eight siblings and Carlos' eleven. Though there was a language barrier between some of them, they all seemed to be having the greatest time of their lives. Charlie's gaze wandered until it settled on his parents. They were seated at a table with Carlos' parents and grandparents. They didn't seem to be enjoying themselves at all.

Carlos sighed, "I cannot believe that they actually came. I told Mama and Papa that they would not want to come."

"I'm sorry, love. I wish they didn't show up, I can tell it distresses you," Charlie said.

"That may be, but it does not matter. You are here, and that is all I need to be happy." Charlie smiled and leaned closer to the younger man.

"May I kiss you?" Charlie asked. Carlos nodded.

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A golden rose sat on the bedside table, next to that a picture of two men in suits, wrapped in an embrace. On the bed sat a young man, reading a science book and waiting for his husband of two years to arrive. He was only twenty-four, and though his husband was fourteen years older than him, he loved him with all his heart. Carlos was crying. Carlos was crying because Charlie had forgotten his phone. Carlos was crying because he didn't know who Alexander was. Carlos was crying because Charlie was talking to Alexander the same way that Charlie had spoken to him when they were first married. Carlos was crying because Charlie didn't love him as much as he loved Charlie.

"Carlos?" Charlie's voice, a low baritone with an attractively wheezy quality to it, rung through the silence of the house. Carlos looked up from his hands, his brown eyes stained red and puffy from his crying. Charlie immediately rushed to his side, concern in his eyes. Carlos choked out a sob as Charlie kneeled in front of him, refraining from touching the younger man.

"My love, what's wrong?" Charlie asked. Carlos looked up at him, his brown eyes meeting Charlie's blue ones.

"Who is Alexander?" Carlos asked. Charlie froze, his face pale and blank as he stared at his young husband.

"Alexander is no one. One of my students. He's no one," Charlie said.

"Why do you keep meeting with him outside of school? Eh? Why do you talk to Alexander the same way that you talk to me!?" Carlos' accent grew thicker as he yelled at his husband.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Charlie said, standing up. Carlos glared and stood as well.

"Do not lie to me! Is Alexander your lover?"

Charlie snorted, "You've gone crazy, Carlos. Alexander is nothing."

"Do! Not! Lie! To! Me!" Carlos accentuated every word with a jab to Charlie's chest.

"Fine. You want to know? Yes. Yes, Alexander and I are together. I'm sorry, Carlos, but a man gets tired of his lover constantly flinching away from his touch!" Carlos didn't know what it was about Charlie's words that made him so angry, but he grabbed the golden rose - a gift from Charlie for their anniversary - off the bedside table and smashed it into Charlie's skull. Charlie stumbled back and raised a hand to his bleeding temple.

"Are you fucking insane!?" Charlie yelled. Carlos raised his hand again, and Charlie seized his arm, "What are you doing!?"

"Let go of me!" Carlos screeched.

"No! Tell me what is wrong with you!?" Charlie replied. Carlos wrenched his hand out of the stronger man's grip, hearing his wrist break as he violently tugged, "Stop moving! You're going to hurt yourself!" Carlos, paying no mind to his injured wrist, smashed the golden rose over Charlie's head again. And again. And again. And again.

There is a point in which it stops being self defense. Carlos had passed that point long before the ringing pain in his wrist stopped him. Charlie was, by this time, close to death. His head was bleeding thoroughly and his skull was cracked open and Carlos was sure that should he feel the need to, he would be able to peel his husband's skull apart like the opening of a coconut shell and see the man's brain.

' _Hasta la muerte nos separamos,'_ Carlos thought sardonically. He stood, realizing what he'd done was illegal, and set about thinking of where to go. He didn't want the police to know he'd done this. They would arrest him. Send him back to Madrid, maybe. Carlos didn't want that. He lay the golden rose at Charlie's head, for once glad that he had once again neglected to take his latex gloves off. He grabbed his lab coat from where it lay discarded on the bed before running downstairs, knocking things over in his way. Both from recklessness and from his intention to make it look like someone else did this.

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Carlos had been driving for days before he stopped for longer than a couple of minutes to get a new bottle of water and to use the restroom. He stumbled into a diner, his lab coat a crisp white against the dark and dirt of the rest of his clothing. He's long since peeled off his latex gloves and used a spare hair-tie to tie his hair back in a small ponytail. He sat down in a booth and held his head in his hands. Tears silently streamed down his cheeks as he thought about what he'd done. He thought of how Charlie was no more. Of how his life was no more. He wiped his tears and pulled out his phone, flipping through his contacts till he got to the university of What It Is.

"This is Carlos Rosales-Cole," Carlos said, "I wanted to take you up on that offer to study the town of Night Vale."

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Carlos liked Cecil the moment he met him. Cecil was quite attractive looking when Carlos met him. Then again, Cecil's appearance was always rather attractive. But Carlos very much liked the appearance that Cecil had when they first met. He was neither tall nor short, neither thin nor fat. His skin was the palest shade that Carlos had ever seen and was thickly tattooed with purple tentacles that waved lazily. So lazily that they seemed not to move at all. They did not move. Cecil's tattoos did not wave, lazily or otherwise. Carlos found himself captivated by the movement of the tattoos. Cecil's hair was white and shaved mostly, but kept long on one side. His bangs occasionally fell forward and covered three white-out eyes. There was a smattering of freckles like the stars of the heavens across his nose. He wore thick, purple rimmed glasses that slipped down his nose. Carlos found himself wanting to push Cecil's glasses up his nose like he so often did with his own wire-rimmed glasses.

Then he opened his mouth.

Cecil talked a lot. Carlos also talked a lot, but only when he felt comfortable. Carlos could also understand the appeal of silence. Cecil, it seemed, could not. Carlos understood why Cecil liked talking. After all, talking was Cecil's job.

Cecil smiled, "What's your name? You have to have a name tag, so that the vague yet menacing government agency can identify you upon appearance."

"Uh…" Carlos blanched, "C-Carlos."

"Oh!" Cecil seemed to rake all three of his eyes over Carlos' body, making the Spaniard shiver slightly, "Are you a scientist?"

"Uh, yes. I was sent here by my employers. Your town is scientifically fascinating and quite bizarre," Carlos answered. Cecil nodded and scribbled something on a name tag. He peeled off the back and placed it on Carlos' chest, rubbing unnecessarily to keep it in place. Carlos barely kept himself from flinching away from the odd man's touch, and kept his eyes focused on his feet. Carlos switched his gaze to his name tag.

 _Carlos the Scientist._ It read. Carlos smiled, and wondered if lots of people in Night Vale had their titles or jobs as names. When Carlos looked at Cecil again, the amount moving-not-moving tattoos that the man had, had increased exponentially. His skin was covered in them. Mostly tattooed, partially void. Carlos liked it. Carlos didn't like it. Carlos ignored the increase of tattoos. Carlos smiled.

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 _About a Year or So Later. I Don't Know. Time is Hard_

There are nights when Carlos wakes up screaming. There are times when Carlos flinches away from Cecil's touch. Sometimes, Carlos doesn't speak for days on end. Sometimes, all Carlos does is talk. Cecil loves Carlos' voice. Cecil loves Carlos' voice even more after the throat surgery. Cecil doesn't love Carlos' new voice. Cecil misses Carlos' old voice. Cecil is glad for the change of Carlos' voice, he thinks it suits the scientist more. Cecil loves to listen to Carlos' voice. He loves to curl up next to the young man and just listen as Carlos reads to him. Sometimes, Carlos doesn't want Cecil to press against him and so they sit on opposite sides of the couch. Carlos always remembers to tell Cecil how much he loves him after that.

It's only been a few months since Cecil and Carlos started dating. Cecil already knows he loves Carlos. They just moved in together recently, so some of their stuff is still in boxes. Carlos' assistant,Winchell, comes over to help unpack on Saturdays. He also helped them move the couch and other furniture. Sometimes, Winchell comes over because Carlos is in the lab and refuses to leave. Refuses to sleep. Refuses to eat, or drink, or go home.

Cecil knows he loves Carlos. He's known he loved Carlos since the first time he met the Spaniard. Cecil thinks Carlos loves him as well.

Carlos loves Cecil. He thinks he's loved Cecil since the first time they met and Cecil got excited at learning he was a scientist. Though he isn't sure. Scientifically speaking, speaking from the point of view of mere facts, Carlos has known he was in love with Cecil since he almost died. Down in the little world underneath the bowling alley. He lay there, wounded and dying, and he realized that if he died then and there he would never make it to the party that Cecil had thrown for him. Cecil would be disappointed. Cecil wouldn't like that. Cecil wouldn't like _him_. Carlos didn't want to lose Cecil or his love or his friendship or even the ability to make calls to Cecil, citing some stupid scientific excuse just to be able to talk to him. Carlos loved Cecil. So he stayed alive, and the Apache Tracker had saved him. Carlos owed his life and his love to the Apache Tracker, and he's sad that the man died and he never got to thank him. Carlos thinks Cecil loves him, too.

Sometimes, Carlos thinks about Charlie. A few hours after Carlos ran off, he received a phone call saying that the police had found Charlie close to death and that he was in a coma in the hospital. Carlos deleted the voicemail and never called back. Carlos doesn't think about Charlie often. He doesn't think about the moments where Cecil does something unquestionably Charlie-like, and Carlos has to stop and catch his breath for a second. Then Cecil turns around, all three of his eyes lighting up with love for Carlos and Carlos just _melts_. Because Cecil isn't Charlie. Cecil is Cecil. Cecil is perfect.

Then Strexcorp comes. So soon after Carlos has finally achieved happiness, this… evil company is trying to take it away from him. Carlos gets angry, and he wants Strexcorp gone. But as soon as he finds a way to possibly fix the problem - he _likes_ fixing problems - he's gone. He's not in Night Vale anymore. He can't _do_ anything to help Cecil or Night Vale. He can't be there for the man or the town he loves. Weeks after he first arrives at the Desert Other World, he finds out that Night Vale is over throwing Strexcorp, that his phone works in every sense of the word, and that Cecil has some lovely woodcarvings of Khoshekh. They really are lovely, and Carlos hopes that his boyfriend still has some because he thinks his oldest sister would love one.

Carlos is still trapped. He wanted to go home, but the doors had to close for the safety of Night Vale before he could get through. But he'll be fine. A scientist is usually fine. He'll get back to Night Vale and then to Cecil.

Then he meets Kevin. He's met Kevin before, back when Strexcorp first came to town. The man was in a wheelchair, then. He doesn't have a wheelchair, now. Though Carlos thinks that might be for the best, because the wheels wouldn't be able to work with all the sand. Kevin is different than Carlos remembers. The Kevin before was confident and happy and… controlled by Strexcorp. Carlos thinks that this Kevin must be the real Kevin. Kevin can hardly walk on his own. Skinny and sickly, his legs can't hold his own weight for long. Carlos helps him. He finds, in that process, that Kevin is inherently childish and happy. He also discovers that Kevin doesn't smile because he wants to. Strexcorp did the same thing to Kevin that it did to all it's workers, but to a larger level. Kevin's lips have been frozen in a permanent smile, and for good measure a ghastly glasgow grin has been cut into his cheeks. But most of all, what makes Carlos so very desperate to help Kevin, is that Kevin is very much like Cecil. In fact, the two might even be doubles. Kevin is can't see properly. Carlos knows from Cecil that if he were to have his third eye removed, it would be like losing a very essential part of his vision. To put it in a way Carlos would understand, Cecil said that it would be like losing vision entirely in one eye and also not having his glasses on.

Carlos helps Kevin. Not because the man was completely helpless, though he was. Not because Carlos felt over-whelming pity for the man, though he did. He helped because Kevin was exactly who Cecil would've become if Strexcorp had succeeded in Night Vale, and Cecil was exactly who Kevin would've been if Strexcorp had failed in Desert Bluffs. Carlos helped Kevin, because when he was with Kevin it was like being with Cecil all over again. It also helped that Kevin actually understood what Carlos was saying when he rambled about science and could contribute to the conversation and Carlos' search for a solution.

Kevin woke to screaming a couple of weeks after he had dragged himself into Carlos' camp and burst up into a sitting position. He dragged himself over to Carlos' side and placed a hand on the scientist's shoulder. He tried to deepen his voice, make it more solemn. He thought that if he could make his voice more like Cecil's, that Carlos would be comforted. But it only made Kevin sound sinister, and so he resumed his usual tone of voice. He shook Carlos harshly, trying to wake him up.

"Carlos," Kevin said, pulling Carlos into a sitting position. The man woke with a jolt and let out a small scream before scrambling back away from Kevin.

"D-do not touch me!" Carlos screeched. It's only by luck that he doesn't wake any of the others. Kevin pulls his hands away drags himself farther away from the scientist. Kevin expected such a fear from Carlos. After all, Kevin could be quite scary. His teeth were unnaturally sharp and serrated, like a shark's. His third eye was bleeding and sewn. His other two eyes were hollow. He was mutilated. He was scary. The eldritch abomination retreated into the shadows, but kept up low assurances. His voice was soothing, even if his appearance wasn't.

"Carlos, wherever you think you are; You're not there. You're in the Desert Otherworld. With Kevin, not whoever you think you're with. Come back, Carlos. You're safe," Kevin said, though mentally he added ' _Well, as safe as we can all be staring into the black maws of the death and the night sky.'_ Which, really, was such a _Cecil_ thing to say. Kevin likes Cecil. Kevin didn't like Cecil when he was still under Strexcorp's influence. Kevin liked Cecil before. Kevin likes Cecil now.

Carlos likes Cecil. Carlos loves Cecil.

"K-Kevin?" Carlos' voice was hesitant and thick with his accent.

"Yes, Carlos. It's Kevin," Kevin says, dragging himself deeper into the shadows to hide himself. Far enough that Carlos couldn't see him, but close enough that he could still hear him.

"Kevin, why are you hiding?" Carlos asked. Kevin is scared, now. Kevin is scared often nowadays. Kevin is unused to emotions other than false-happiness. Kevin is scared Carlos will be mad. Carlos is not mad. Carlos is scared he hurt Kevin.

"You pushed me away. I thought you did not want to see me, that I scared you." Carlos smiles to himself. Kevin is pitiful, he thinks though there is no malice in the thought. It is the truth.

"I was not scared by you, my friend. I was scared by those in my past."

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Cecil takes to Kevin like bees to flat, tubular flowers that are fresh in bloom. Cecil didn't like that Kevin had taken part in the takeover of Night Vale, or the extremely hypocritical insult that Kevin accidentally paid to his niece. They work it out, though, and Carlos is left with not only one man he is completely in love with and is in love with him, but two. Kevin sleeps separately from Cecil and Carlos, and Carlos is so very grateful for that. Most nights, he can barely tolerate the touch of one other man on his skin. He doesn't think he'd be able to handle two. Carlos is also grateful that Cecil only occasionally likes cuddling.

One day, excruciatingly early, Cecil is woken by the squeak of Kevin nervously rolling his wheelchair pack and forth, similar to how Cecil himself will pace when stressed. He isn't quite sure what it is that has Kevin so nervous. Was he having another attack? Did he want those bright yellow pills that Strexcorp got him so hooked on? Cecil doesn't know. Cecil grabs the bright yellow candies that he and Carlos keep in the bedside table just in case.

Cecil knows he does not need the candy when he wanders into the hall. Kevin is wheeling his chair back and forth in front of the hall bathroom door, clearly unsure what to do. Cecil places a hand on the Bluffian's shoulder to stop his pacing. Kevin silently points inside. Cecil looks. Carlos is huddled over the toilet, his retching now loud and clear that Cecil is so close.

"Go back to bed. I got this, 'Vin." Kevin doesn't like 'Kev' so Carlos and Cecil settled on 'Vin' for the man. Kevin shook his head, though he wheeled away from the door so that Cecil could enter. Cecil crouched next to the Spaniard and held the man's long hair back away from his face with one hand, the other rubbing soothing circles into Carlos' back.

"Carlos? Are you all right?" Cecil asked, his voice low and concerned.

"I think I woke Kevin, would you make sure he's okay?" Carlos said, his voice soggy from the pain of his stomach acid expelling itself.

"I'm all right. I would be in there, but my wheelchair won't fit with all three of us," Kevin said from outside the door.

"Did I wake you?" Carlos asked, looking up at Cecil. Cecil laughed and pressed a kiss to Carlos' temple.

"No. Are you okay? Are you feeling all right?" Cecil asked. He didn't expect what happened next. Carlos threw the Night Valean away. Cecil went sprawling on the floor, and hit his head against the door frame, hard. Kevin pushed himself out of his wheelchair and dragged himself to Cecil's aid.

"I'M NOT SICK!" Carlos screamed, louder and angrier than the pair of doubles had ever seen him. Kevin clutched fearfully at Cecil's shoulders, one of his hands pressing against the bleeding wound on the back of his head. Kevin's hands dropped as Cecil stood and pulled the crippled man up. Kevin shook in fear, and Cecil leveled a glare at Carlos.

"Fine. Kevin and I are going to bed. You can sleep in Kevin's or on the couch, whichever you like better." Cecil turned on his heel and carried Kevin to bed.

"Is Carlos okay?" Kevin asked in a fearful voice as he and his double lay in bed together.

"Of course he is. Carlos just doesn't like people implying that he is unwell," Cecil answered, pulling the eldritch abomination closer and pressing a firm kiss to his temple.

"Is he mad at us?"

"No, Flower, he just wants us to see him as the strong man that he is."

"Does he have to sleep on the couch?"

"Or he can use your bed, he can choose."

"I don't think he'll like my bed."

"I'm not so sure."

"Is Carlos sick?"

"No. He just isn't having a very good night."

"Oh. Do you love Carlos?"

"Yes, I do. And I love you, too. Do you love Carlos?"

"Yes, and you, too. Does Carlos love us?"

"Irrevocably."

Carlos felt bad for his outburst as soon as he saw the fear on Kevin's face and the anger in Cecil's eyes. Cecil was slow to anger, though he'd toed the line many times. Carlos felt bad for bringing those emotions up in his boys. He lay down in Kevin's bed, pulling the sheets close and smothering himself in the scent. Kevin smelled similar to Cecil. Like cinnamon and frankincense, though with the added addition of a faint stench of blood. Carlos burrowed his face into the pillow, trying to drown out the image of anger burning red hot in Cecil's eyes, the paralyzing fear on Kevin's face.

"God," Carlos said aloud to himself, "Why do I have to be such an idiot? Why would I push Cecil like that!? He hurt himself! No, no, Cecil didn't hurt himself. I hurt him." Carlos sobbed into the pillow, silently berating himself for doing something as stupid as losing his temper and shouting at his boys, as stupid as throwing Cecil away like that. He didn't remember sobbing himself to sleep.

Carlos woke when he was harshly pulled out of bed by the sheets wrapped around himself. His eyes snapped open and he nearly screamed, not expecting to be met with a thing of nightmares. Then, he recognized the figure as Kevin and berated himself for that. Kevin was in his wheelchair again and was wheeling himself backwards, dragging Carlos by the sheets into Carlos and Cecil's room.

"Make. Cecil. Happy," Kevin whisper-yelled. Cecil was in the same position Carlos had been in earlier. He was sobbing into his pillow, and Carlos' heart nearly broke at the sight. Kevin fixed Carlos with one last glare, grabbed his sheets, and wheeled away.

"Ceec?" Carlos breathed as he sat down on the bed at Cecil's side, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you… I just… God, I'm so sorry." Cecil looked up from the pillow and threw himself onto Carlos. The scientist wrapped his boyfriend in his arms with a tender smile.

"Don't. Ever. Do. That. Again," Cecil mumbled into Carlos' chest.

"I promise. I love you, Cecil. I love you so much," Carlos whispered into Cecil's hair.

"Where's Kevin?" Cecil asked.

"I think he went back to his room," Carlos answered, laughing lightly.

"No, I'm right here." Carlos and Cecil laughed through their tears at the cheerful voice of the eldritch abomination. Carlos stood and pulled Kevin out of the wheelchair, placing him on the bed before snuggling in with him. Cecil grinned and snuggled down with the both of them. For once in twelve long years, Carlos felt no fear at the touch of the men he loved.

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A year later, the three are married. It was the happiest day of Carlos' life.

｡･:*:･ﾟ ,｡･:*:･ﾟ ｡･:*:･ﾟ ,｡･:*:･ﾟ

 **If you're wondering, what Carlos thought after he smashed Charlie's head in was "Till death do we part." Honestly, that seemed like a really weak ending to me. But I hope you all liked it? A thank you to my wonderful beta, who knows her name but I have forgotten it. My bad.**

 **Kevin being loved and respected and free of the toxic influence that Strexcorp had on him is my kink.**

 **Appearances! Cecil is only described once, but that is just his appearance on that day. In my headcanon, Cecil(and Kevin)'s appearance changes on the daily with four things remaining the same: Eyes, Tattoos, Voice, and Basic Stature.**

 **Eldritch Abomination: I refer to Kevin as this a couple of times, mainly because his TV Tropes profile uses this as one of his aspects. I know some of you may not know what an Eldritch Abomination is, so I will copy and paste the TV Tropes definition for you. "** **The Eldritch Abomination is a type of creature defined by its disregard for the natural laws of the universe as we understand them. They are** **grotesque mockeries of realitybeyond comprehension** **whose disturbing otherness cannot be encompassed in any mortal tongue. Humans suffer** **Brown Note** **or** **Go Mad from the Revelation** **effects just from witnessing their** **Alien Geometries** **. Reality itself** **warps** **around them. Any rules that they do follow are** **beyond our understanding** **, as are what motives they might have for any of their actions.**

 **Native to** **H.P. Lovecraft** **'s** **Cosmic Horror Story** **genre, the Eldritch Abomination has become a mainstay of** **horror** **and** **fantasy** **works, along with numerous others that** **derive inspiration** **from Lovecraft. They are often used as a** **Greater-Scope Villain** **,** **Outside-Context Problem** **,** **Mad God** **,** **Evil God** **or** **Sealed Evil in a Can** **. As they are defined by existing outside reality as we conceive it, most also come from somewhere beyond the stars or** **before the dawn of time** **or** **outside our universe** **.**

 **Physically, the Eldritch Abomination is only defined by seeming** **somehow "off"** **, hinting at their** **incomprehensible nature** **. They can range from** **humanoid** **to** **animalistic** **to** **physically impossible** **to** **inconceivably bizarre** **. However, common physical characteristics include similarities to** **internal organs** **,** **genitalia** **,** **animals with tentacles** **, or** **celestial bodies** **."**

 **Potassium. Now that that's done, so is this author's note! (There is an uneven amount of pages in this when I typed it up in docs and I am very angry)**

 **This is Italy's Driving saying;** _ **That's All Folks!**_


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